


Too Much of a Good Thing Can Lead to a Messy Bed And an Early Wake up

by PrinceOfHell00



Series: Two Winchesters and a Baby [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Comforting Sam Winchester, Crying Jack Kline, Daddy!Sam, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Gen, Little!Jack, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Age Play, Over Eating, Pacifiers, Papa!Dean, Sick Jack Kline, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Stuffed Toys, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceOfHell00/pseuds/PrinceOfHell00
Summary: Poor Jack eats to much greasy and sugary food late at night for dinner and ends up paying the price for it in one of the most unfortunate of ways.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Two Winchesters and a Baby [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1268963
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Too Much of a Good Thing Can Lead to a Messy Bed And an Early Wake up

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I meant to have this fic up last month, but because writer's block and miscalculated shit, I didn't get it done till now. But hey, at least it's here now! Right? Yeah.
> 
> Oh, before ya'll get to reading; I'm sure some of ya'll who read the last fic of this series, will probably remember me saying I was going to write this fic from inspiration from that paragraph in chapter 2. Well. About that... yes, this fic is still heavily inspired by that bit, but it's also a completely different take on said paragraph-which has since been deleted for continuity purposes! I fuckin' hate that kinda shit, so yeah, didn't really have a choice (no way in hell itself was I gonna rewrite this shit, yo). Anyway, please enjoy~!
> 
> (Quick friendly reminder, this fic takes place before the events of 'A Day With Papa', but it can be read as a standalone <3)
> 
> Jack's headspace: 2yrs

"Hey, so you never finished telling me how the hunt with Jody and Donna went," Dean said as he pulled back the blankets from the bed, climbing in.

"It went fine," Sam grunted, pulling on his grey pajama pants, before climbing under the covers beside his brother.

"That's it? ' _It went fine_ '?"

"Yeah, it went fine. What else is there to say?"

Sam reached into his nightstand, and pulled out his hardcover copy of 'Three Women', flipping to the page that held a thin, black bookmarker.

"Come on, man–" Dean turned himself to face the younger Winchester, placing a hand on the man's book and gently pushing it down into his lap–"What's going on with you? You've been all broody since dinner."

"You honestly have no idea why I'm upset? Like, at all?"

Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Not a clue."

"Dinner is _why_ I'm upset, Dean." Sam let out a long, drawn out sigh. "Look, I know I agreed on us having fast food tonight, but I still don't think it was okay to let Jack eat as much as he did so late at night."

"Aw, come on, Sam. It was a special occasion tonight, our kid got his high school diploma!" Dean grinned proudly.

"I understand that, and that's why I agreed in the first place. But what I didn't agree on, was letting our son eat more than was necessary for a late, greasy, sugary dinner."

"He's fine, Sammy. If anything, it only made the kid sleepy. You saw how out of it he was afterward. Nothing some good sleep won't help–which–he's currently doing."

"Dean, he ate more in one sitting than you ever have in your entire life. I've never seen anybody eat that much without eventually being sick, and that's exactly what I'm worried about. He's still half human, Dean, he can still be effected by human illnesses and things alike just like we can–which he has been."

"He's gonna be just fine, Sam. Besides, he wasn't little, we couldn't have told him what to eat or not to eat, anyway. We did promise not to take control of those things when he's not in headspace."

"I know, and you know I respect that, but when it comes to his health, you know as well as I do that we're allowed to intervene if we see it necessary for his well being–Jack's still our son even when he's not little. Which is why I wish you would've had my back when I told him he should think about stopping after that fifth donut and third fried sandwich. I could've pushed the issue, but I didn't want to be made out to be the bad guy on one of the biggest days of his life."

Dean brought a hand up and cupped the side of his little brother's face, caressing the younger man's cheek with his thumb. "He'll be okay, Sam, I know what I'm tellin' you. Yeah, he is only half angel, but you know that also means that getting sick like a regular human is something that rarely happens to him." Dean smiled warmly at him. "Just watch, I bet the kid will be starving for a good breakfast tomorrow. I'm thinkin' pancakes with loads of butter and syrup on top, with a nice, big mountain of bacon to go with it," he added.

Sam gave a deep, resigned sigh, but his lips twitched up into a small smile. "I'll only agree to that if there's also something healthy to go along with it."

Dean made an exaggerated groan of disgust. "Fine, but only if it's something with fruit, none of that kale and spinach crap you like so much."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but chuckle fondly at the other man. "A fruit salad it is, then."

"Well, now that that's settled–" Dean let out a jaw cracking yawn–"Let's get some shut eye."

\

"Daddy, daddy."

A soft, tense voice spoke somewhere in the darkness, accompanied by a hand urgently shaking his shoulder.

Sam let out a quiet groan, slowly blinking his eyes open. It took him a moment for his tired eyes to adjust to his dark surroundings, but as soon as they did his gaze immediately landed on the source of the voice and hand that woke him just moments ago. Jack was standing beside the bed, facing Sam with an arm wrapped around his stomach and the other now limp at his side, and (from what Sam could tell in the dark) the boy's face looked to be twisted in discomfort.

"Jack–" Sam cleared his throat, lifting himself up to lean against the headboard–"Baby, hey, what's wrong?"

"Daddy, I don't feel–"

Before Sam could see it coming, Jack leaned over the bed and projectile vomited right onto Sam's blanket clad legs. For all of five seconds, Sam could only stare in wide eyed shock at what just happened, but quickly snapped out of it and sprang into 'Daddy Mode' when his little boy began to cry.

"Okay, okay. It's alright, baby, you're gonna be alright," Sam said in a soothing tone, carefully peeling the soiled bedding away from himself (grateful that the vomit only covered the blankets and not his pants or shirt). He got off the bed and gently gathered the sick boy up, cradling him to his chest.

"Let's get you to the bathroom, sweetheart."

As Sam carried Jack to the bathroom located just a couple doors down from his and Dean's room, he asked, "Did you wake up feeling little and sick, sweetheart?"

Jack slowly shook his head against Sam's neck. "W-woke up b-big an' s-s-sick, b-but gots lil' wh-when it gots worse."

Sam frowned, stopping in front of the bathroom door. "Honey, why didn't you come wake me as soon as you started feeling sick?"

" 'Cause was big an' thought it go 'way after while," Jack answered, playing with the collar of Sam's shirt, sniffling back tears and mucus. "You mad?"

"No, honey, I'm not mad. But I need you to promise me–whether you're big or little–that you'll come get me or papa whenever you feel sick or need help for any other reason, okay? You don't ever have to suffer alone, baby."

"P-promise, daddy. S-s-sorry," Jack stammered, letting out a pained whimper as he tried curling his body closer to Sam. "Huuurts...!" He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Sam's shirt tightly in both hands.

"It's alright, honey. I know it hurts a lot, but you're gonna be okay, baby," Sam reassured and comforted the whimpering little boy.

This was definitely going to need to be a longer, more in depth conversation later when Jack was big again, but for the moment Sam needed to focus on getting the little Nephilim to the toilet before his stomach decided to unleash itself all over Sam and the floor.

Once inside the bathroom, Sam carefully maneuvered through the dark room until he was standing in front of the toilet. He slowly lowered Jack down onto his knees and lifted the lid, then flipped on the light switch.

Now that Sam could actually see Jack instead of just his outline and a feature or two, the poor boy looked absolutely awful. His skin was a sickly pale, and a trail of leftover vomit clung to the side of his mouth. Sam could see he was fighting the urge to be sick again, but with the way his body was shaking, and how he had one arm cradling the white bowl tightly, while the other was wrapped around his stomach again, the younger Winchester knew it was only a matter of seconds before the boy's rolling stomach won the fight.

Sam crouched down beside the little Nephilim, gently stroking a hand through the kid's messy and sweaty hair. "Don't fight it, baby, just let it all out."

"D-don't want to. Tummy r-really h-h-hurts, daddy," Jack whimpered, tears continuing to fall down his pale cheeks.

"I know, honey, but you'll feel much better after you get everything that's making your tummy hurt out. I promise."

"M'scared, daddy. Don't like throwin' up."

"I know, baby boy, I know. I don't like throwing up either, but sometimes we have to do certain things we don't like, in order to help make us feel better. Daddy's right here, sweetheart, and he'll be right beside you through it all."

It broke Sam's heart to see his baby boy like this. He hadn't seen Jack sick like this since he got hit with a really bad stomach virus a few months back. That had actually been the little Nephilim's introduction to the horrible, disgusting experience that was vomiting. Sam could still remember the poor boy's terrified face when the younger Winchester had to tell him that the increasing nausea he felt–along with the saliva pooling in his mouth–meant something uncomfortable and gross was about to happen to him. He also still remembered the many tears and fearful sobs that followed that first experience, too.

Whether it was Sam's reassurances or Jack's hold on his stomach's contents just finally giving way, the boy lurched forward and retched into the bowl.

"That's it, baby, let it all out," Sam softly encouraged, rubbing Jack's heaving back in big, soothing circles.

After four more bouts of vomiting, it seemed like the little Nephilim's stomach was finally empty. The exhausted boy now had his head laid against his forearm, while his other arm was loosely wrapped around his sore midsection, silent tears running down his face.

Sam stood up from his knees, slightly wincing at the twinge of pain in his lower back when he did (well, if that didn't make him feel old). He grabbed one of the hand towels hanging on the towel rack by the sink, ran a corner of the towel under the water and squeezed out the excess moisture, then grabbed the plastic yellow cup sitting on the counter and filled it up half-way with water, before crouching down beside Jack again. "Hey, Sweetheart. Can daddy clean your face, please?"

Jack lifted his head a little and looked up at Sam, giving the younger Winchester a tiny nod in a response.

Sam smiled down at him and moved the boy's face closer. He very gently began wiping away the tears and cool, dried sweat from Jack's cheeks and brow, then lastly moved on to remove the traces of vomit that remained around the little Nephilim's mouth. Sam tossed the used towel in the sink to be washed later. "That feel a little better, sweetheart?" He asked, brushing the boy's damp hair out of his eyes.

Jack nodded again. "Wanna go lay down, daddy," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Okay, honey, but let's rinse your mouth out first." Sam placed the cup to the little Nephilim's lips. "It'll help take some of the yucky taste away."

Jack slowly swished the water around in his mouth for a couple seconds, then spit it back into the cup.

"Good boy, now we can go to your nursery and get you changed and comfortable. C'mon, sweetheart," Sam said with a gentle smile, putting the plastic cup back on top of the counter before lifting the little boy into his arms.

\

Once Sam got Jack diapered, into his pajamas, and settled in his crib with his stuffed animals and pacifier, he grabbed the green wastebasket sitting by the dresser and placed it down beside the crib.

"I don't think you'll throw up anymore tonight, but just in case, we'll leave this here and your bars down for quicker access to it."

"Wha' if I fall, 'addy?"

"Don't worry, baby, that won't happen. Me and papa are gonna spend the rest of the night here with you to make sure," Sam replied, smiling warmly.

Sam could easily just let the other man continue to sleep, but then who would take the time to clean up the puke covered bed that _could_ have been prevented if his brother had just _listened_ to him? It couldn't be Sam–he wasn't about to leave Jack alone for more time than was necessary.

Sam honestly did have to wonder how Dean was still asleep, though. They weren't exactly quiet leaving the room earlier, and Dean's always been known to be a light sleeper. Sam guessed it was probably just one of those rare (unfortunate) night's where the older Winchester could sleep through just about anything.

" 'Ou an' papa?"

"Mhm, I'm gonna go wake him right now and ask him to do a couple things real quick before he comes to join us, 'kay?"

"No, don' wan' 'ou t'lea'b, 'addy," the little Nephilim whined, eyes beginning to look shiny.

"It's okay, honey, I promise I won't be gone long," Sam softly reassured, smoothing back Jack's tousled hair.

" 'Kay..." Jack mumbled around his pacifier, pulling his stuffed animals closer to him for comfort.

Sam pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead in reconciliation, then began making his way back to his and Dean's bedroom.

When he entered the room, Sam choked on a cough as the stench of old vomit hit him square in the face. After gaining his composure (and reminding himself that he's smelled far worse in his life), the younger Winchester walked over to the bed where the older had his face half-buried in his pillow and his left arm hanging off the side. If Sam hadn't been upset with him, he would've found his brother's sleeping position endearing. He flicked on the lamp that sat on Dean's nightstand, illuminating half the room in golden light.

"Dean. Hey, wake up." He shook the other man's shoulder–abet somewhat roughly, he could admit.

The older Winchester startled awake with a snort. He lifted his head up and squinted at the light emanating from the lamp, looking slightly disorientated for a few seconds, until he finally registered the smell permeating the air.

"Oh God, what... what the hell is that smell?" Dean asked, hefting himself into a sitting position against the headboard.

"It's exactly what you think it is," Sam monotonously replied, scowl firmly in place (or as his brother puts it, his 'bitch face').

"A dead animal?" He coughed into his fist, taking shallow breaths to help minimize the foul smell.

Sam's scowl deepens. "Puke. What you're smelling, is puke."

"Wait, what? What do you mean ' _puke_ ' "

The younger man sighed deeply. "There's currently a decent sized puddle of puke on my side of the bed–no, before you ask, it's not mine; It's our son's. For the past hour I've been comforting him as he cried and puked the rest of his guts out in the bathroom."

Any remnants of sleep or disgust completely vanished from Dean's face as Sam spoke, being replaced by concern. "What happened? Is he okay now?"

Some of Sam's ire melted away when he saw the concern blossom on his brother's face. "He came and woke me up around two to tell me he felt sick, but poor baby ended up throwing up before he could finish telling me. He's resting in the nursery now, probably still feels pretty crappy, but at least he's not throwing up for the moment."

"He woke up little?"

"Not exactly. He woke up big, tried to wait it out and see if it would go away, and when that didn't work and it got too intense, he ended up aging down. I let him know though that even when he's big, if he feels sick or needs any kind of help, he doesn't have to suffer from whatever it is alone. I'm thinking though, we'll probably have to have a more in depth talk with him about coming to one of us in situations like this right away–regardless of whatever headspace he's in–when he ages back up."

Dean nodded firmly. "Totally agree."

" _We_ will also be having a talk later this morning, just so you know."

The older Winchester breathed a heavy sigh. "I'm really sorry, Sam, I really didn't think the kid would get sick. If I'd known or really listened to you, I would'a sided with you at dinner, and maybe none of this would've happened. He must've been so scared, like when he got that stomach bug. God, I feel like the worst parent alive." Dean ran a hand across his face, guilt painting his face and dripping from every word he spoke.

The rest of Sam's anger melted away. Dean thinking he wasn't a good parent was one of the last things Sam ever wanted the other man to think. Besides, now that Sam really had a chance to think about it, this situation was in part his fault, too. If he had just stood firm, then their little boy might not be suffering right now.

"You're not, Dean. You're a good parent–a great one, actually. Look, mistakes were made, on both our parts; I should have kept pushing the issue and stood firm, and you should have listened to me and been on my side. It happens though, parents make mistakes, but it doesn't automatically make them a bad one. Like I said, we'll talk later today." Sam leaned down and gave his brother a chaste kiss. "You're an amazing parent–an amazing papa–don't ever doubt that," he whispered against Dean's lips.

Sam stood back up and walked over to the door. "You take care of the bed, then come join us in the nursery." The corner of Sam's lip curled up into a smirk upon seeing Dean's horrified expression at the mention of the soiled bed. "Good luck, babe." With that, the younger Winchester left up the hallway to Jack's nursery.

Just as Sam turned the corner to the nursery, he heard the distinct sound of someone gagging. He ran the rest of the way into the room, where he found Jack leaning over the edge of the crib, dry heaving into the wastebasket bellow with tears streaming down his face. Sam quickly rushed to his side.

"Okay–you're alright, baby, you're alright. Easy, easy." Sam grabbed the basket with one hand and held it up in front of the sick boy, while the other rubbed his trembling back as the little Nephilim retched harshly.

Jack heaved a few more times–only managing to bring up a little bit of yellow bile–before he sank back against his pillow, exhausted and panting, tears still leaking from his eyes.

"H-hurts," the little Nephilim croaked softly, wrapping his arms around his stomach and curling himself into a ball. The poor kid's stomach muscles must have been beyond shot, by now.

"I know it does, baby boy. It'll pass though, I promise." Sam placed the basket back down and gently wiped the tear tracks off Jack's clammy face. "I'm going to step into the hall real quick, baby. I just need to ask papa to grab a couple things before he joins us, okay?"

Jack only nodded in response, pulling his stuffed hedgehog and bear to his chest once more, looking even smaller than he usually did while in headspace.

Sam walked down the hallway again, stopping just around the corner so Dean could hear him, but still close enough to hear if Jack got sick again.

"Hey, Dean?"

After Sam called out in question for the older Winchester, the sound of bare feet running on concrete floor could be heard from down the dark hall.

"What? What's wrong?" Dean asked, words coming out fast, and concern lacing his tone as he came to a stop in front of Sam.

"Jack threw up again. Well, more like dry heaved and spit up some bile. Could you to get him a sippy of ginger ale and another with just plain water? And I think we still have that hot-water bottle I bought a couple years back in my old closet, so if you could please fill it up and bring that too, that would be great."

"Yeah, no problem. I just need to start up the washing machine, then I'll get everything and bring it over."

"Thank you." Sam gave the other man a tired, but grateful smile.

Dean nodded and smiled back, before turning around and heading back down the hall.

Sam returned to the nursery. He grabbed one of the chairs from Jack's play table and placed it next to the head of the crib so he could run his hand through the little boy's hair. Jack leaned into his touch, eyes heavy lidded, but still in too much discomfort to actually fall asleep.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between the two, but soon enough they were joined by the oldest member of their family.

"Here's everything you asked for, Sammy," Dean said, passing the two sippy cups and hot-water bottle over to Sam when he stood up, before going and crouching down in front of Jack. "Hey, little man, daddy said you've been pretty sick tonight. How're you feeling now?"

"Tummy an' throat hurt, papa," Jack replied, a slight rasp in his voice as he spoke.

"I bet they do, bud. Daddy asked me to bring you some stuff that'll help make you feel a little bit better, though." Dean smiled gently at the little Nephilim, then moved to grab one of the other play chairs.

"Here, sweetheart, this should help your tummy feel less achy–" Sam carefully placed the hot-water bottle against Jack's stomach–"Does that feel okay, baby? Not too hot?"

Jack quietly moaned, eyes closed as he shook his head against his pillow.

Sam chuckled. "Good, I'm glad."

"Think you can handle a little water or ginger ale, baby boy?" Dean asked, now sitting opposite to his little brother's own temporary chair.

Jack groaned and opened his eyes half-way. "Nooo... don't wanna throw up no more." The little Nephilim pressed his face into the back of his stuffed hedgehog.

"Just a few sips, sweetheart? I know your scared about throwing up again, and I can't promise that you won't, but we don't want you to get dehydrated. Plus, the ginger ale will help settle your tummy," Sam added at the end, hoping it might persuade the boy into at least consuming a bit of the soft, carbonated drink.

The little Nephilim peaked an eye out from the stuffed toy. "It will?" he asked timidly.

Sam nodded. "It sure will. Whenever me or papa get sick from our tummies', having some ginger ale usually helps calm them down."

Hesitantly, Jack removed his face entirely from the stuffed hedgehog, then raised himself up so he was laying back against his pillow instead of curled around it, carefully making sure the heat against his stomach stayed where it was. " 'Kay, I'll try it," the little Nephilim said, reaching a hand out for the cup.

"That's our good boy." Sam smiled at the boy and handed over the sky blue sippy cup of ginger ale to him. "Small sips, honey, small sips," Sam reminded as he sat back down, setting the other sippy cup filled with water on the floor beside the chair.

After taking a couple sips of the cool drink, Jack handed the cup back to Sam who praised him again and placed it beside the other on the floor.

"M'sleepy," Jack said, yawning and rubbing his right eye with a close-fisted hand.

"Why don't you close your eyes and try an get some rest, baby. The worst should hopefully be over now," Sam responded, beginning to lightly message Jack's scalp.

Dean grabbed the colorful, safari animal printed comforter that was bunched up at the end of the crib, and pulled it over the little Nephilim. "Daddy and I will be here when you wake up, sweetheart." Dean pushed the discarded pacifier from earlier between the little boy's lips.

"Have sweet dreams, honey," Sam whispered, giving the little Nephilim's forehead a kiss.

"Nigh' nigh', 'addy. Nigh' nigh', papa," Jack slurred out, eyes slipping shut.

Sam continued the gentle message to Jack's head until the boy's breathing evened out.

Once both Winchesters were absolutely certain the little Nephilim was deep in sleep and wouldn't wake up, Dean turned on the baby monitor before the two if them quietly left the nursery and went into the library, where they proceeded to have their much needed talk (agreeing that afterward they would return back to Jack's nursery to stay and watch over him until he woke up or they woke him up later in the morning). It was during that talk that Sam declared _he_ would be in complete charge of the foods Jack ate for however long he saw fit; no more greasy or sugary foods as often as before, and _definitely_ none after a certain time of day.

And so, after they came to that agreement and all was settled (a kiss included, in said settlement), the two Winchester brothers returned to their baby boy's side, where they would remain for the rest of the day; before and after he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> So btw, that first vomit scene was actually inspired by a real life event lmao. Story time: One night when I was like 3 or 4, I ate a shit ton of cherries while with my grandparents' at one of their client's (they used to clean peoples homes' and businesses') office, then when we got home (probably at like 9 or 10pm) I asked my grandma for some eggs. Big. Fucking. Mistake. I ended up waking up sometime after 12am and legit projectiled all over my grandparents' bed. And like Jack, I was only able to get the words, "Grandma, I don't feel-" Out before barfing my guts out. But I sure as fuck learned my lesson in over eating after that shit happened lol! X3
> 
> Please leave a comment *cough*theygivemelifeandmotivation*cough* and/or kudos if you enjoyed, and may you have a great day or night! ^_^


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